Noise's Absence
by Stolen Childe
Summary: Post-NFA Angel and Spike strive to deal with the aftermath, outcomes and consequences.
1. Chapter One

**Title: **Noise's Absence 1?

**Author: **Stolen Childe

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters.

**Rating:** Undetermined, PG this part

**Pairing:** Angel/Spike

**Warnings:** angst, Post-NFA, odd, slash, cursing, un-beta'd

**Spoilers: **Possibly season five

**Feedback:** Please, more than anything! I need to get a response to this one, I really, really do. Please? puppy eyes

**Summary:** Post-NFA Angel and Spike strive to deal with the aftermath, outcomes and consequences.

**Author's Notes:** Still looking for a beta if anyone's interested. I really don't know what this story is about, I do know it's somewhat depressing and I only have a vague idea of where it's going. I'm not sure if I can promise regular updates or not, as it stands, yes, but that never means anything for me in the beginning. So I really hope you enjoy.

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Silence permeating the air always unsettled him; it seemed to at any rate. He would begin fidgeting and twisting his hands together, his eyes tracking around the room as if every shadow would move and pounce. He would tap a rhythm on the table, or his knee, or bounce his leg wildly causing the heels of his boots to beat out a sound where he sat. I took to bringing a music player with me if only to stay my own irritation. It would work, for a time, until he got bored and the restlessness began once more. He would take to pacing around the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back and humming under his breath. One day I rose beside him and followed him, step for step if only to drive him to the point of irritation. It worked hardly, if at all. The smile he gave me was tight and strained and I could no longer keep up the mimicking act. I sat and settled for watching him.

After what seemed to be an eternity he was called into the small office. I knew from the way he rubbed his hands that his palms had began sweating the moment he heard it. I offered the best smile I could and tentatively he returned it before entering the office as if walking to his death. The young receptionist behind the desk asked me if my friend was all right. I had seen her looking at me from the moment I entered and feared for a moment that this was her way to start a conversation that may lead to more. She was pretty enough, but looking to the closed office door I smiled and she may have picked up on that fact that I was less than available. I answered that he just got nervous and she accepted that and fell silent.

It wasn't until what seemed to me as an awful long time later that he reappeared, that soft shy smile prominent; the smile I knew meant that he was denied again. This had been his fifth try and I didn't want to let on that I was beginning to give up hope. I wanted to say something consoling but nothing came to mind so I just kept my smile on and clasped his shoulder. The young receptionist finally got it.

xx

He sat in the bedroom that night, shaggy golden blond hair falling over his slender hands covering his face. I watched him, leaned in the doorway nibbling my lip. I never knew what to say in this situation. I never knew what to say in most situations. I wasn't much for talking in general. He was a babbler though but right now his silence was grating on me for a change. I opened my mouth and whatever I tried to say stuck in my throat.

He looked up and smiled and spoke for the first time that evening, "No worries Luv." I was far from convinced. I didn't like this at all and anyone could tell, everyone as a matter of fact but I refused to do or say anything to dispel their fears, I just went about my normal business, in my normal life thinking about him sitting at home in front of the television that strained, seemingly ever-present sadness in his eyes. The hand on my back startled me and so did the soft concern in the owner's eyes. I tried to shoo my co-worker away, make excuses for why I couldn't be there anything but it didn't work. His hand was a strong solid presence on my shoulder and seemingly, a weight pulling me down to what seemed the very depths of the ocean. I didn't much care for water.

When I got home that evening the emptiness of the house startled me into panic, I looked around checking everywhere even the most ludicrous of places except the one logical one, the refrigerator. When I finally did get around to the appliance, it was to find a small, handwritten note tacked there. He had gone out. I knew what out meant and I knew where I'd find him. The question was did I want to find him. To not only see the anguish and the sadness but to feel it radiating off of him as he poured his heart out over a standing microphone and an acoustic guitar. I could already hear his husky voice in my mind, a voice that I used to love more than anything but now it only hurt because of what was behind it. He had become desperate and him desperate was always a situation that I really didn't like him and I to be in.

Suddenly I very much wanted to go find him.

xx

He was right where I suspected, on stage just before I entered most likely, sitting on the small wooden stood with his foot propped up and his bare knee exposed through the ripped knee of his dark blue jeans. His ring and bracelet glinted in the stage light and so did the tears gathered on the dark fan of his eyelashes. His eyes were closed so he didn't see my entrance but I suspect he felt it because the minute I froze in the doorway he opened his eyes and locked his crystal blue gaze with my dark brown. There was not a soft strained smile this time, but a shattering of his entire face. Only one deeply aware of his gestures, movements and idiosyncrasies would have noticed and I was intimately aware.

I felt at that moment if my knees would buckle beneath me and I would fall to the floor broken at that look. He was not reaching the point of desperation, he was past it and that look clearly said 'save me.' I wanted to, desperately and the song he broke into next was somewhat unconventional. _Dying to be Alive. _And by god, I wanted to make his every wish and every desire come true but I no longer had the power, abilities or means to do so. I didn't collapse where I stood but walked rather shakily over to a small table near the stage and refused to look at him. Instead, I stared at a piece of modern 'art' of obscenely bright colours hanging on the wall behind the counter. My act of interest must have been more convincing than I thought because a young woman with short, violet hair in messy wild spikes came and slid next to me. Her earrings, nose piercing, lip piercing and the slightly intriguing tongue piercing glinted in the low light. She introduced herself as the artist and I tried to offer up a mildly interested smile but I knew I was most likely failing miserably. Her face changed and I quickly apologized with the explanation of a bad night. She patted my hand consolingly her long violently painted nails brushed my skin and for a moment I feared (foolishly) that they were pierce into my hand for their sheer length. She left then and for that, I was relieved.

His performance ended after two other songs and the light respectful clapping (and some snapping) filled the small room. I watched him pack away his guitar and collect his glass of water and wondered if he would hazard to sit with me. He didn't, instead walked to the counter ordered a cup of tea and moved to a shadowy corner. His eyes caught mine and I stood, ordering for myself a cup of decaffeinated coffee. I always thought that a foolish process, tacking on the prefix 'de' in order to make something the negative of another. I always thought a large majority of the English language was foolish.

I sat across from him at the small table for two. His hands were shaking around his large mug, the china clattering lightly and the tag of the tea bag shivering. I reached out, unthinkingly and lay my hand over his. They were cold. He started and pulled away sharply and I feared that he would topple over his chair. He collected himself, panting slightly and his eyes did that nervous animal act again. I begged silently for him to calm down, for him to look at me and after nearly five minutes his breathing calmed and his eyes flickered to mind.

"Don't leave me again," my voice was soft and pathetic to my own ears and I knew before the words escaped my mouth that they were the wrong thing to say. The rapid breathing started again and again, unthinkingly I clasped both his hands in mine but this time I refused to allow him to pull away.

"No." I said, "You can't do this. You aren't allowed to do this!" He struggled and pulled. I felt tears enter my eyes and stream down my cheeks. The watery glint must have caught his eye because he stilled, sucking in one big breath and focused on me. I breathed with him for a time and his hands relaxed in my grip, moving so far as to clutch back at them.

I stared into his eyes and rubbed the pad of my thumbs over his soft skin. Whispering gentle nonsense words and in the back of my mind wondering what he would have been reduced to if I had decided to stay at home. Perhaps he would have been the better off for it, as much as I loathed thinking so. I wanted to gather him up in my arms and hold him for an eternity we no longer had. I had no idea had to make it better, how to make it all go away. He was dying before my very eyes and no one could tell me why.

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TBC…?


	2. Chapter Two

**Title: **Noise's Absence (2?)

**Author:** Stolen Childe

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the boys, they belong to people with names and money.

**Rating:** Still PG I guess, maybe a little higher for Spike's lovely potty mouth.

**Warnings:** mild slash, angst, cursing, POV (Angel), human post-NFA

**Pairing:** Angel(Liam)/Spike(Will)

**Feedback:** Yes please!

**Author's Note One:** Big huge hugs and thanks to Marilyn Hart who is an excellent beta! I offer you Angels and Spikes covered with nice dark chocolate!

**Author's Note Two:** Second chapter my dears. Nothing to really say here this time, just more angst and some crying and some questions answered (hopefully).

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**Chapter Two**

I woke up to an empty bed and for a moment panic set in. My eyes tracked around the room until they landed on his slight form perched on the window sill. He had one leg up, the other dangling to brush the rug. His absence of expression was startling and I didn't want to look. I was terrified. I sat up and walked over, slowly, hesitantly until I had reached his side. He didn't turn to look at me just kept staring at nothing. I wanted to say his name, pull him from whatever hole he had fallen into but I knew he was beyond my reach. I began to suspect that he had been beyond my reach for some time now. I had just refused to accept it. He was all I had left and I couldn't possibly go on knowing that he wasn't with me.

"Do you ever miss it?" His voice startled me and my gaze shot up; I knew that now I was doing my impression of a startled rabbit.

"W…what's that?" I asked, blinking past my confusion. My lungs feeling tight and my heart fluttering.

"Being a vampire," Will answered. I blinked again. Had this been his concern the entire time? Was I too human now? Was he too human now?

I thought about the question, wondering what would be the most truthful answer to give. I always wanted to be truthful and not hold anything back. Not now that I realized my own mortality and that of those around me. Did I miss it? Truthfully? Yes, I did. And I told him so. He offered up a shy smile that had seemed absent from his face for far too long. Could I possibly have said something right, for a change?

The smile fell almost before it had been put in place and his gaze turned back to the outside world glittering below. I had been foolish in thinking that those words would change everything. I stared for a moment before turning with a sigh back to bed.

Returning from work the following evening, I saw him still in the spot where I had left him that morning. I didn't know if he had even moved at all throughout the day. I didn't know what to ask him; I didn't know how to make it better. I debated for a moment to just grab him and shake some sense into him. To pull him to me and never let go, or to scream and yell at him until we were both red in the face. If I could even get a rise out of him, that was.

It certainly wasn't lack of trying that he was so unresponsive. He was just so maudlin all the time, dwelling more on his sudden humanity than I thought would be possible. Or perhaps it was the illness that he was stricken with that no doctors could name. I prayed fervently to any deity I still believed in that this would not be a repeat of Darla. That by the time they finally did find out what was wrong it wouldn't be too late. Losing the only family I had left wasn't an option. I turned away from his statue-like form and left the bedroom for the living room. I had nothing to do, but I couldn't bear witness to his slow erosion.

I didn't like feeling helpless but that is all I felt at that time. It seemed it had been all I was feeling for awhile. I did miss being a vampire, more than I thought I would, less than I hoped I would and not as much as I missed my friends. I had failed them all. I had been failing them ever since the day I signed my soul over to Wolfram and Hart. Everyone could tell that I wasn't me anymore. Wesley blamed it on the added stress of Spike. Fred blamed it on missing Cordelia. Gunn blamed it on me not "getting laid" and Lorne wholeheartedly agreed. They had all been right, well perhaps except for Gunn and Lorne. I had gone without sex for the better part of a hundred years that was nothing new. Now though, it didn't matter what they had or had not thought whether or not they were right because they were all gone. Dust in the wind to use an old cliché. Faith said that once, sometimes I wondered how she was doing, the only one I ever really kept in contact with any regularity. She had never blamed me for moving to Wolfram and Hart. Her daughter would probably be about a year now. I had seen a picture, big brown eyes, coffee and cream skin and curly hair.

Glass shattering in the other room tore me from my mindless wondering. I panicked and my heart dropped. I thought for a moment that Will had been thrown out of a window… again. Only this time, there was no way he would survive it. I rushed into the bedroom to find him standing, fists clenched painfully at his sides and panting in great heaves. There was a shattered glass of water running down the opposite wall. I called his name hesitantly and he spun around, fire in his eyes that made my heart leap and plummet all at once. The former because he was showing emotion, the latter because he was showing _that_ emotion. I tried to talk him down as I usually did but he just seemed to explode, or crumble I couldn't rightly say which. Eyes flashing and snarling. This time it was his turn.

"You don' get to do that! You don' get to act like everythin' is all right! You don' get to coddle me and pet me and whisper soothin' sweet nothings into my ear because that's all they are! Nothing! Not a fuckin' thing and 'm damn well sick of you givin' a fuck! You don' let me go and you don' let me die! 'M not yours! 'M not yours! 'M not yours!" He shuddered and cried and panted, standing curled into himself in the centre of the small bedroom with his arms wrapped around his torso and his still so pale hands clenching tightly at his steel-blue long sleeved T-shirt. He had just told me blatantly enough that I wasn't to soothe him or offer comfort so again I felt helpless. When did I become the helpless? _When the Powers stole your life._ Even if I hadn't lived, it had been my life, my calling, my career, my purpose. Now I was nothing, I was just another faceless, nameless tour guide at the Natural History Museum. I couldn't even help the man I loved.

"Will," I tried but only got a steely glare for my efforts. His cheeks were red with anger and tears, his eyes puffy and wet. Seeing the look on his face, the hopelessness in his eyes made my own tears spill over. I had tried; I had tried for eleven months and ten days. I couldn't try anymore and with that thought, I fell to my knees, my right screaming at me for the treatment but not caring enough to pay it any mind. I was over, I was finished and if I wasn't allowed to comfort him and pretend everything was all right, than I had not use. It was my turn.

I don't think he quite knew what to do when he saw me fall apart for a change; for the first time in his recollection I can theorize. He stood there staring, his breaths slowed in surprise. I couldn't help it and I cried. I sobbed; I poured my heart into my hands and he just stood there until I fell forward and lay uncaring on the rug, sniffling softly, the tears seemingly never ending. He was snapped from his stupor then, he walked over to my side slowly kneeling next to me and reaching a tentative hand to rest on my shoulder. I didn't know if I wanted that, I didn't know what I wanted.

"Liam…" he said softly and drifted off. I don't think he knew what to do or say either. Mind you, lately he never seemed to know. I shook my head and curled around myself further and stared at my hand in front of my face. It was slender, more slender than I think it ought to have been my knuckles bulging from under the nearly translucent skin that didn't seem entirely healthy. I had forgotten how to take care of a human body and as such, I seemed to be wasting away. I finally chanced a glance out to Will and he seemed entirely too slender as well. I couldn't remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal and drank something more than tea. I pushed myself shakily to my feet and walked slowly into the kitchen pulling out a carton of eggs and the frying pan. I felt his gaze following me questioningly but I didn't turn to look at him, I just went about making a large batch of scrambled eggs. I placed two plates on the small kitchen table and filled them both with heaping servings, realizing that I probably wouldn't be able to eat it all but vowed to try.

"Will," I said softly. He looked at me and I gestured with my head to the other end of the table before sitting myself. I didn't pick up my fork until he sat and didn't take a bite until he did. Neither of us liked eggs very much but it was the only thing I could really make very well.

We sat and ate, the previous episode all but forgotten, the only sound the scrape of cutlery on china. When he ate as much as he could I saw him put his fork down and his shoulders begin to shake. His hands were resting in his lap curled around his napkin and small little sobs entered into the silence. I put my own fork down and hesitantly walked over to him, pulling out his chair and crouching in front of him. I looked up and under, through the curtain of his bangs and into his tightly clenched eyes.

"Will," I said.

Crystal blues snapped open and he looked at me, finally looked at me, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for not finishing your fo—"

"Not that you great dolt," he said through his tears and that familiar jibe nearly thrilled me.

"Then for what?" I asked.

"For putting all this on you. For making you take up the slack and pick up the pieces. I just… can't deal with this," he gestured to his body and I knew he meant the humanity and the illness.

"I'm so sorry," he shook his head and fell to the floor in front of me, burying his head against my chest and clenching at my shirt like it was his lifeline. For one startled moment I sat frozen before moving my arms around him and pulling him tight against me, resting my head on his. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity both crying into each other, for each other, for everyone we lost.

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TBC...


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